In Prisim

Merge; 2009

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The alt-rock reunions we've seen over the past decade have generally fallen into one of three categories: the notoriously combative legends who've let time-- or lucrative post-reunion guarantees-- heal all wounds (the Pixies, Dinosaur Jr.); the post-punk pioneers collecting on the debt owed to them by a new generation of spiritual offspring (Wire, Gang of Four, Mission of Burma); or the fleetingly successful 1990s-era acts who don't have anything better to do (Urge Overkill). But the sudden, surprising return of Polvo (or, at least three quarters of its original line-up) after a 12-year absence does not adhere to any of these scripts. As a band that bridged late-80s SST-schooled indie-rock and more abstract, angular 90s math-rock, Polvo's legacy feels very much frozen in time-- they're not a band whose influence is especially apparent among contemporary indie-rock acts; their popularity never extended beyond the campus-radio crowd; and there's no juicy back-story to propagate their myth. They were simply a very good band that made some very good records, and then just plain stopped.

But Polvo's first album in 12 years presents a different kind of reunion rationale-- one that's less about extending a legacy as rewriting it. Like Hüsker Dü, the Minutemen, and Sonic Youth before them, Polvo reached their critical peak with an epic double-album statement, 1996's Exploded Drawing, which saw them successfully unraveling their bee-swarm guitar buzz to explore the polarities of their sound, from psychedelic-folk lullabies to brutalizing post-hardcore. But instead of answering their Daydream Nation with their Goo (i.e., a more streamlined, approachable set), Polvo took a hard left on 1997's Shapes, a hodgepodge of contorted classic-rock riffage and fractured-folk interludes that, in hindsight, anticipated the current vogue for Arthur-endorsed new-school psychedelia, but at the time felt like a directionless drift into the unknown, one from which Polvo never returned. Until now.

In Prism thus feels like an attempt to chart an alternate course for Polvo post-Exploded Drawing, in which the band harnesses its psychedelicized sprawl into a precise, laser-focused tracklist, where even the eight-minute excursions feel brisk and purposeful. Ten years of recording-technology advances also means that Polvo has never sounded more radiant; liberated from the murky, mid-fi production of the band's older records, Ash Bowie emerges as a forceful, almost swaggering vocalist on In Prism's blast-off opener "Right the Relation", which, despite its cryptic allusions to Polvo's history and ethos ("We see the beauty behind imperfection... I kill my creation to right the relation") is the band's most forthright, unfussy rocker to date. And, if this were 1997, you could easily imagine "Beggar's Bowl" becoming the band's crossover calling card on alt-rock radio, thanks to seismic, Led Zep-like convulsions and an uncharacteristically funky "Another One Bites the Dust"-style break that showcases the muscular time-keeping of new drummer Brian Quast. Remarkably, Polvo achieve these breakthroughs without sacrificing any of their signatures, such as spastic structural shifts and eerie, spidery guitar leads where you can feel the strings bend. They've just organized them in such a way that their aggressive and melodic impulses complement rather than fight against each other.

Of course, you'd expect a new Polvo album to deliver at least a couple of corkers. But where In Prism truly distinguishes itself-- not just as a surprisingly good reunion album, but also as the most immediately satisfying front-to-back album in the entire Polvo catalogue-- is in its quieter, headier stretches. Where the extended running times of "D.C. Trails" (6:57) and "Lucia" (8:15) may seem to indulge the band's old free-form tendencies, each is carefully constructed on an upward arc: the former cruises on a pleasingly lysergic jangle-pop tip before climaxing with a fireworks-worthy guitar jam; the diregy, doom-metal build up of "Lucia" makes the song's sudden transition into a melancholic, tambourine-rattled pop song all the more effective and affecting. In Prism could be the first Polvo album where the melodies leave as lasting an impression as the noise around them, with Bowie tapping into a more guileless mode of expression that rarely revealed itself before.

It's only during the prolonged middle breakdown of the drifty, eight-minute closer "A Link in the Chain" that In Prism acquires an air of ponderousness. But by that point, Polvo's comeback coronation has been handily earned. If no one was really asking for a new Polvo album at the start 2009, In Prism's dreamy discord feels perfectly in tune with that of contemporary psychedelic iconoclasts like Deerhunter. And if Polvo's reformation initially defied the traditional logic for indie-rock reunions, In Prism ultimately sets a new standard for them: don't just make it sound like you never left, but rather make the past seem like a mere warm-up for what's to come.